


Sometimes You Can't Make it on Your Own

by Cassiopiea86



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Animal Transformation, Animalistic, Chitauri - Freeform, Explicit Language, Flashbacks, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Gay Sex, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Held Down, Hurt/Comfort, Hurts So Good, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Not Ashamed, Knifeplay, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Rough Body Play, Rough Sex, Sorry Not Sorry, Torture, give it a chance, taken by surprise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-28 00:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15036194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassiopiea86/pseuds/Cassiopiea86
Summary: Banishment.An eternity in exile on some god- forsaken rock, or perhaps just until Thanos can catch up to him and exact his justice. Surely this can be the only fate that the Allfather has planned for him after his misadventures in New York?Needless to say, Loki is surprised to find himself on a strange yet somewhat familiar world reminiscent of Earth, filled with the universes refugees, more than a few monsters and an angry indigenous species. There he meets the dark and mysterious Charlie - an empath and a werewolf, lately of Earth, the man who saves his life. Powerful, intelligent, quick-witted, and alluring, Charlie has the ear of his people, and the key to all of Loki’s secrets. Entanglement with such a man at this stage would surely be a mistake, especially when it becomes apparent that Charlie has demons of his own and some very powerful enemies who would do whatever it takes to push themselves back into his life.Without the majority of his powers, and with the wolves closing in, Loki will have to ensure their survival the old-fashioned way, with wits, guile, and maybe the help of a few new friends.





	Sometimes You Can't Make it on Your Own

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: this is not your average Loki fiction. Give it a chance, and I promise I won't disappoint you.

1

The day dawned perfectly. The sky was clear, the air not too warm. A good day, Charlie mused, to be born into another world. Unless of course you were shot before you even took one breath of Edolie’s fine air, something that the poor souls about to come through the portal in Iona’s forest were in very real danger of if the team couldn’t get to them in time.

  
  Guia handed Charlie a small pack of medical supplies as the wagon drew to a stop. They disembarked in silence and followed the fighting men up the treelined incline towards the portal clearing. He could feel the thrum of magical energy cycling up and knew they didn’t have long. It sang along his nerves and made gooseflesh of his skin.

  
  “We need to do this quickly,” the captain breathed on Charlie’s right. For such a large man he could speak incredibly quietly when needed. When they reached the brow of the hill he stiffened. “They’re here,” he muttered and looked to Charlie for confirmation.

  
  Charlie nodded. He could smell them clearly. The indigenous folk had a unique scent, musky and low, which was unmistakeable. The captain gestured to his men and they made ready to move, but not before the portal fired with a sound like a throb and a sucking of air that drew Charlie’s hair across his face. He moved quickly to clear his vision and saw that there were now three men and a woman standing in the clearing. The Shrikes – as the indigenes were known to Charlie’s people - fired on them immediately and all four went down. The captain and his men fanned out to the right, firing as they went, while Guia and Charlie made swiftly towards the portal. He could see that the men furthest from them were head shot and clearly dead, so he went straight to the woman. She was screaming in fear, but he could find no wounds on her.

  
  “Get her to stop that noise, then help me here if she’s uninjured,” Guia ordered him from her position by the fourth man. He was bleeding heavily from a wound to his thigh, and dark rose petals of blood were blooming on his shirt over his shoulder and upper arm. He stared up at the pure blue sky with his lips pulled back from his teeth in a grimace of pain as Guia drew a tourniquet from her medical pouch.

  
  Charlie turned his attention back to the woman. She was still screaming and trying to get onto all fours. He pulled her strawberry-blonde hair back so that he could rest his fingers on her temple. Her fear, huge and all-encompassing, flowed into him and briefly became his before he commanded her to sleep. She slipped away slowly, trying to fight it, but Charlie’s will was strong, and she couldn’t last against him. She sank slowly into the grass and he turned to Guia.

  
  “Put your fingers here and press hard.”  
  He did as he was bid, pressing his fingers to the bullet wound below her tourniquet. Despite it, the man was losing a lot of blood. “We need to get away from here,” he stated.

  
  Guia nodded and then whistled shrilly. Five of the captain’s men split from the main group at the far edge of the clearing, keeping the indigenise at bay. They picked up the dead men and the woman while Guia helped Charlie get their charge over his shoulder. The man moaned in pain and began to mutter – “What are you doing?” and “Unhand me,” – over and over. He wasn’t strong enough to fight though, and Charlie took his weight easily. They left the clearing low and fast, making for the wagon and horses at the rendezvous point. Their driver had been waiting and whipped the horses on as soon as they were safe aboard the waggon.

  
  For Charlie that ride seemed to take forever, but in reality, it was only fifteen minutes to Sangol, the nearest fortress. Charlie kept his fingers where they were, stemming the flow of blood from the dark-haired man’s wound and watching him deteriorate with every minute that passed. He barely noticed when they passed beneath the gate and pulled up to the large tent that served as a field hospital. Many hands came to help take the wounded inside, but Charlie kept his post by the man’s side, plugging the bullet wound until they got to Guia’s work table. There she took over, allowing him to ease the man into sleep, ready for the operation he would need. The man’s emotions were a tangled mess that Charlie couldn’t decipher in his weakened state, and he had to ignore them for now. There were other things to do. While Guia was patching their patient up, he would need to get blood for a transfusion (there was a man who often helped them here who was a universal donor) and then monitor him once they were done.

  
  By midday they had their patient stable and transfused with Verni’s blood. He had woken once during their ministrations and Charlie had put him back to sleep, this time being able to get more of a hold on his emotions. There was confusion, a sense of loss, fear and a deep, deep well of anger. He could only hope that sleep would give him some relief.  
Shortly after midday the captain and the remainder of his men returned. The captain and one other of his men had been wounded mildly in the sortie. Charlie dealt with the captain; they had known each other for many years and were good friends. The other man, Roxborough, was dealt with by Guia. He and Charlie had never been on good terms. Charlie didn’t trust him and despised him for the bouts of cowardice he occasionally exhibited. The feelings he had gleaned from him, on the few occasions that Charlie had had to make physical contact with him, went much deeper than mere cowardice. He was malicious and sadistic, yet Captain Wilding kept him around – Charlie would never understand it. Roxborough on the other hand kept away from Charlie as much as possible for one simple reason; he was terrified of him and what he could do.

  
  The captain had a shallow groove cut into his trapezoid muscle, made by the passage of a bullet. He removed his shirt so that Charlie could get to it to clean it. He let Charlie work in companionable silence for a minute before speaking.

  
  “We did well today,” he said, but with hesitation. He knew that none of what they did was ever easy for the younger man, and that, although he wouldn’t show it, Charlie took every loss as a personal blow.

  
  Charlie nodded though, knowing that the captain was right. They had been able to save two lives today and retrieving the bodies of the dead meant that they could at least do right by them. It had been a while since they had achieved even that much.

  
  “How are the survivors doing?” the captain asked.

  
  Charlie applied a dressing to the captain’s shoulder, making the bigger man wince, before answering him. “The woman, Alena, has gone up to the castle. She’s still dazed, in shock, but she’ll live. The other…. I don’t know. He’ll need time, and rest.”

  
  “Did you manage to get anything?” The captain gestured to his own head as if Charlie didn’t know what he meant. “Is he dangerous?”

  
  “Ray, I don’t know.” Charlie stopped for a moment, thinking of that anger. “He’ll bear watching though, just in case.”

  
  Ray nodded and, now that Charlie was done with him, put his shirt back on. “I’ll leave it in your capable hands.” He clapped Charlie on the shoulder with a friendly hand and left him to his work.

2

Two days later Loki awoke properly for the first time. He lay quietly for a while with his eyes closed, listening to the sounds of birdsong and hushed voices. After several minutes he heard quick, assured steps coming towards him and opened his eyes in time to catch the arm of the medic as he reached for his brow.

  
  “I’ll have none of your artificial sleep,” he croaked, hating how weak he sounded, how weak he felt. He blinked to bring the face before him into focus; shoulder length dark hair, dark eyes, one eyebrow arched questioningly.

  
  “Are you in pain?” the medic asked mildly. Loki judged him to be somewhere in his twenties. He was sure of himself – not in an arrogant way but sure in the way that comes from experience – and seemed content to stand as he was until he had his way, even if it took all day.

  
  “Yes, I’m in pain,” Loki answered, and laughed without a trace of humour. “I still want none of it.” He paused, wanting to gage the other man’s reaction, but he just stood as he was, waiting with infinite patience. Loki sighed disgustedly after a time, looking away and releasing the medic’s arm back to him. He was very careful not to touch his skin. “You’re an empath.”

  
  “Among other things,” the medic said, and then smiled. “Charlie Lefevre, at your service.”

  
  “You’re from Earth?” It wasn’t really a question. He was surprised to find that he got no pleasure from seeing the engaging smile fade from Charlie’s face.

  
  “Yeah,” he confirmed quietly. “I left eight years ago.” The emphasis on the “left” suggested it wasn’t his choice. The bitterness of it left Loki speechless for a moment.

  
  Charlie took advantage of his silence, pulling a chair over to the bed. “Where are you from? Where did you come here from?”

  
  “Asgard.”

  
  Charlie frowned. “Asgard. Like, the Norse myths, the Aesir, all…. that stuff…” He trailed off, and Loki scoffed.

  
  “How many worlds have you known? Two? Three maybe? The universe is far bigger than you could ever imagine. And all myths start somewhere.” Loki gave a bark of humourless laughter. “Why am I even explaining myself to you?” He tried to move and drew in a pained hiss of breath. His left shoulder and arm were throbbing, but the pain in his thigh suddenly had him weak and sweating. He relaxed back, breathing heavily and fighting nausea.

  
  “I didn’t say I didn’t believe you,” Charlie said from the other side of the hospital tent. Loki hadn’t even noticed him move. “And I was serious about that pain.” He brought over a pewter cup and held it so Loki could drink from it, which he did without question. Once the foul-tasting liquid was gone, Charlie resumed his seat and waited for him to regain his equilibrium. Loki closed his eyes.

  
  He came back to himself half an hour later to find Charlie still at his post beside him. Gods, but the man was as patient as – he stopped. “A wolf on the hunt” was how he wanted to finish that thought, and he knew that he was right somehow, but it also jarred with the younger man’s mild mannerisms and soft voice. There was something in his eyes though – a depth that he knew from his own experience took years to acquire; it was far from the soft sheep’s look he had come to expect from most humans.

  
  “Feeling any better now?” the younger man asked.

  
  Loki drew in a breath to argue, or maybe mock the medic, but on finding that he did actually feel better, he let it out without saying anything. He would have to find out what he had been given as it could well be useful later.

  
  Charlie nodded as if he had received an answer and leaned forward. “So, who are you, then?” he asked.

  
  Loki laughed again, softly and with humour this time. Charlie was as relentless as a wolf on the hunt too.

  
  “Loki, of Asgard. Most definitely _not_ at your service.”

  
  Charlie smiled, this last comment not bothering him one bit. “So, you’re not just anyone from Asgard then.” He sat back in his chair, considering. “I always thought you’d be a redhead,” he finished after a while, and Loki frowned at him, wondering if he was being made mock of. Charlie shrugged. “I spent a few of my teenage years in Norway. I’m not completely ignorant.” Loki thought that Charlie didn’t completely believe him either, but it didn’t matter.

  
  The medic fell silent then, waiting. It took Loki a few moments to realise that he was giving him space to ask his own questions.

  
  “Where am I. What world is this?”

  
  “Those of us who live on it call it Edolie, but I couldn’t tell you what the wider universe calls it. It’s kind of…. primitive.”

  
  “I can tell,” Loki said, sarcastically, and Charlie grinned.

  
  “Well, let me tell you, three years of medical school counts for a lot more here than it would on Earth.”

  
  Loki nodded. He moved his right hand carefully to inspect the bandages on his shoulder. “I was shot,” Loki said, his eyes fixing firmly on Charlie’s. “By whom?”

  
  Charlie hesitated. “That’s a long story,” he said.

  
  Loki swept his open palm around, indicating his current condition. “I have nowhere to be.”

  
  “I do,” Charlie said apologetically, and Loki felt a momentary stab of fear on hearing this. He had just been someone’s target. He didn’t know who had shot him, or why, but he had a strong feeling that this young man would go far to prevent a repeat of it. How could he do that if he wasn’t here? Seeing his fear, Charlie held up his hands in a placating manner. “It’ll only be for tonight. I’ll be back around dawn. This place is very well fortified. You’ll be safe, and Guia will be with you.” He indicated the old woman sitting by the entrance to the tent. She appeared to be asleep. The sky outside was now the deep blue of twilight, he saw.

  
  “I’ll be safe from whom, Charlie?”

  
  Charlie sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Ok, short version. The indigenous people of this planet – the Shrikir as they call themselves- take a little umbrage with us being here. You know, seeing as we’ve killed so many of them and all.” This last was said with a bitter twist of the lips. “This planet is full of portals, there are ten on this continent alone. When they fire, when people come through, it’s always a race between us and them to get there first, but we’ve been failing to save people a lot more recently. We leave sensors at the sites, they break them. We were just lucky – you were lucky – that the sensor at Iona hadn’t been discovered.” He paused then, looking unhappy. “I’m not really explaining this very well.”

  
  “Well enough. So, they would have just killed us all and been done with it? Why the race?”

  
  Charlie gave Loki a strange look – not pitying, not quite – but a look that showed Loki that there was a lot he had yet to understand.

  
  “No, if they had -”

  
  He was interrupted by the appearance of a large, shaven headed man at the doorway. “Charlie, you should be going. It’s not long till moonrise,” the brute said.

  
  “I won’t be long, Ray. Get to your post” Charlie said over his shoulder. The large man nodded and left. The medic rose and retrieved a clear glass jar with a cork stopper from the table across the tent, which he then brought to the bedside. “More of the painkiller, should you need it.” He gave Loki a searching look. “You really are safe here. They won’t come within five miles of this place tonight. Get what rest you can; we’re moving out in the morning.” He gave Loki a small, reassuring smile, and then left, retrieving his sword belt and taking his jacket from the back of a chair as he went.

3

As soon as Charlie was lost from his view, Loki made his move. Not to escape, no, he had nowhere near enough information for that yet, plus he knew his wounds wouldn’t allow for it. He had something else on his mind.

  
  He sat up, slowly and carefully, finding that the painkiller Charlie had given him was still working. He took a swig from the jug anyway, and then another, just in case, and grimaced at the bitter aftertaste. On taking inventory of his clothing he found himself only wearing a loose shirt and underpants. “Shit,” he whispered to himself. The idea of putting on trousers over his wound made him feel a little sick, so he took the sheet from the bed and did what he could with it. Next, he took one of the crutches that were propped up near him. Moving with it under his right arm was going to be awkward, but he thought he could manage it. He used it to stand, experimentally, and found that he was fine, for now. He moved slowly to the entrance. The old woman was definitely asleep, and he slipped past her with relative ease. He spied Charlie across the castle grounds. There were a few people around, but no one was close, and no one was paying attention – or so he hoped. Now all he had to do was keep Charlie in sight – no easy task – and move as quickly as possible.

  
  By the time he made it to where he had first seen Charlie, he was sweating and a little out of breath. He leant against the wall for a few moments and caught sight of the younger man again just in time to see him pass under an archway. Loki hurried forward, trying to ignore the dull throb that had begun to pulse in his thigh. He knew he should have stayed where he was, but his curiosity had been piqued by Charlie’s exchange with the large man, and his curiosity had ever been a curse. He was at the archway himself now, and could see that there were sentries out there, but they were all looking outward, towards the surrounding forest. He continued on, following Charlie into the trees, and just before he fell he distinctly saw the medic step down, and then he was down himself, on his face and biting the back of his hand to suppress a shout of pain. He lay as he was for a long time, waiting for the screaming of his wounds to abate. It never occurred to him to turn back, although he did begin to wonder why he had ventured out in the first place. He got up, slowly and laboriously, but he got up all the same, and carried on when he felt ready.

  
  There were ruins here, buried under deep moss and wild tangles of undergrowth. Behind a broken doorway, steps led down into a cellar; this was where Charlie had gone. He could see torchlight flickering in the depths and took a deep breath before following it down. He had managed fifteen of the steps when he heard the scream; the echo made it huge, terrifying, and it stopped him in his tracks. It’s Charlie, he thought, it must be. But in looking at his situation, if Charlie was in trouble down there, what could he really do? He was rooted to the spot, indecisive, but it was the next scream that got him moving. It was long, and full of anguish. He went down as fast has his own pain would allow him, and, after ten more steps, found himself in a short corridor. The door at the end was closed, but unlocked, and he pushed through it awkwardly into the large dungeon beyond. The cells were lining the righthand wall. On the left was a stone bench running the length of the chamber, with torches in sconces above. Two were lit, and in the moving light he saw a pile of clothes folded neatly on the bench. A pair of boots were placed beneath it, and a jacket was hung from a peg above; Charlie’s jacket. He took two steps forward, caught sight of what was in the first cell, and froze.

  
  The beast – no, the _wolf_ , Loki amended – was immense. _It got Charlie_ , he thought stupidly in his shock. Then he looked back at the clothes and it all fell into place. Charlie is the wolf, he realised, and then burst out laughing. It hurt him to laugh, it really did, but he couldn’t stop himself. “A wolf on the hunt.” Had he really thought that of the younger man earlier? He staggered a little, and it occurred to him that he probably shouldn’t have had that last swig of painkiller. He sat down quickly on the bench before he could fall again and gazed at Charlie’s alter-ego with interest.

  
T he creature had begun to growl low in its throat at the sound of his laughter and now stood slowly on it’s hind legs. The bristly fur at the top of its head brushed the ceiling, and its long tail swept the floor as it curled towards it’s foot. It gripped the bars before it with giant paws, each finger tipped with two and a half inches of wickedly curved talon (the claws on its back feet were an inch longer than that at least, and were retractable, he saw) and pulled. Nothing happened, of course, as he had expected – the medic was far from stupid, and Loki thought it was highly unlikely he would have locked himself away in a place he didn’t know was safe. The beast looked at him enquiringly with its head tilted to one side, and what Loki saw in its eyes sobered him somewhat. The deep brown held a fierce intelligence and an insatiable hunger. It shook the bars again, and then began to pace restlessly, growling and making quiet huffing noises, building itself up to the inevitable point where it would launch itself at the bars in an effort to get to him.

  
  Loki sighed and pulled his injured leg up onto the bench so that he could recline against the wall. An undeniable tiredness was washing over him, and now that he had made his discovery he felt a little disappointed. The laughter of a minute ago seemed a long way away. He also understood better why he had followed Charlie here. He was desperate to keep his mind occupied and away from the melancholy thoughts that were seeping their way back into him, so much so that he had actually wanted something to be happening down here, anything, to keep the memories of Asgard at bay; Odin’s disgust, Frigga’s remorse, the cell he had occupied while he awaited his adoptive father’s judgement. The stripping of his powers had been the final, humiliating blow. Not that Odin had been able to take everything – he still had more than a few tricks up his sleeve – but the fundamental things, his durability, his strength, his speed, had all been whittled away, leaving him practically mortal. Had Frigga been willing to do Odin’s bidding, she would have taken much more of him, but he believed his mother still held onto some hope, however misguided, that he could do better. He hoped dearly that she hadn’t been made to suffer for her transgression.

  
  As for his current situation, his so-called punishment and exile, he would have to do what he had always done; wait, adapt as needed, and survive. And if the opportunity for escape came up, would he even take it? After all, where could he go now? He had exhausted all his allies, and he had no idea where in the universe he was. Another thought occurred to him then – after New York would Odin have banished him to somewhere he could escape from? Waiting really was his only option. He leaned his head back against the wall and sighed again, resigned to his fate – for now. His eyes closed of their own volition and he let himself slip away.

4

Charlie awoke shortly after moonset. The flagstone floor was cold against his back, and he had a headache, something that only tended to happen when Ray joined him for the change, but Ray wasn’t the reason tonight. The older man was out on patrol, staying visible to keep the Shrikes from coming too close, if indeed they would be foolish enough to be out there at all.

  
  He took a breath, scenting the air, and then groaned. “What the fuck,” he whispered, rolling onto all fours and looking out beyond the bars. “What the actual fuck?”

  
  Loki was asleep out there, propped against the wall with his leg up on the bench. Charlie rose, reached through the bars for the key to the cell where it hung on a hook just within his grasp, and used it to unlock the door. In the next cell he kept water, towels – when the wolf left him, it shed its skin as it went, and he always ended up a disgusting mess afterwards – and blankets. After cleaning himself up, tying back his dark brown hair with a length of leather thong, donning his trousers and soft, close fitting calf skin gloves, he took one of the blankets and went over to where Loki was seated. He checked Loki’s wounds before covering him with the blanket and confirmed a suspicion he had had since the previous day. Loki was healing faster than a normal man would. It was a relief to see it, but it complicated things for him.

  
  He hunkered down in front of Loki’s sleeping form and took off his right glove. He was about to do something that went entirely against his moral code – he fully believed that anyone with his abilities had to live by a code, or else risk alienating themselves from everyone close to them. He was also painfully aware that what he was going to do was akin to rape, a violation of another person’s most intimate and private self, but he was cornered now - the safety of the people here was much more important than the privacy of someone he’d only just met and suspected was…. What? He didn’t know for sure. He only had strange references from a country he’d spent a short time in as a child. Yes, those myths had fascinated him, but he was dealing with someone of flesh and blood now, and he knew from his own situation that myths often fell well short of the truth.

  
  He brushed his fingers over the skin of Loki’s slender wrist and took the finely wrought - and frankly, beautiful - hand into his own. Loki was deeply asleep, and Charlie had a few minutes to think about what he needed to find before he was assaulted by the other man’s emotions. Ray’s question to him the other day, the one about whether Loki was dangerous, had been a pertinent one, and obviously he also needed to find out whether Loki was who he claimed to be. While the he was asleep, this information would be Charlie’s for the taking, but it would take time.

  
  Charlie’s twin brother Daniel – who, as far as Charlie knew and certainly hoped, was safely back on Earth - was also an empath, and there had been a strong telepathic link between them. Charlie had found out through trial and error over the years that prolonged contact with someone not only brought their feelings into sharper focus, it also created a weak version of that telepathic link through which he could garner images from their mind. Now that his decision was made he didn’t hesitate. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink down into Loki’s feelings, and ultimately, the depths of his mind.

  
  The first feeling he clocked onto this time was that anger. This didn’t surprise him – what he was doing now was very different to what he had done earlier. That time he had been projecting his own calmness along with a command – namely, a command to sleep. This time he was searching, and as Loki’s anger was so great, it was the only thing he could find to start with. He relaxed, going deeper still and was finally able to separate the anger into different sources – there were many – and find out what was underneath it. There was complicated affection there, clearly for someone he had been thinking of before he fell asleep, a mother figure perhaps, and beneath that and equally complicated hatred, born of jealousy. There was no question as to whom this last was directed – the feeling was so strong he almost got an image with it; a brother, of sorts, who Loki felt had thwarted him somehow. This interested him greatly. If the man who was under his power was indeed Loki, that meant the brother was Thor, but he wouldn’t be able to find out for sure yet. There was a lot to wade through here, and Loki was old, very old.

  
  It took him a full twenty minutes to get deep enough to find what he was looking for. His legs had gone numb, but he was so immersed in his occupation that he could no longer feel anything outside of Loki’s dark mind. He was getting images now, quick flashes like a flip book, almost too fast for him to pinpoint, but he was able to insert mental fingers between the pages and stop it when an image or thought needed to be scrutinised. This happened almost immediately when he saw an image of a skyline that could only be New York. This was a recent memory too, almost at the top of the pile as it were. He stared at it for a time, not knowing what it meant but a little frightened all the same, before moving on. Most of the following images were – relatively – standard; images of a life lived, but there was a lot there that he didn’t understand, or necessarily want to. There was a fear coating everything now too. Not a fear pertaining to anything he could see, but one, he thought, of ramifications for something he’d done. Loki had cheated someone, but Charlie couldn’t decipher who, or why, and it frustrated him. In some way, this was one of the things he was here for, and he couldn’t reach it. After a few moments of fruitless digging, he gave it up, and went on the hunt for the rest of it.

  
  He found it soon after. The first image he got was of a stern looking old man, and he thought - although the image was almost too quick for him to catch - a raven. And then there it was; a shining city, and a rainbow bridge. _The Bifrost_ , he amended. _Holy Shit._

  
  Charlie let Loki’s hand and mind go and gasped as the real world rushed back at him like a shock of cold water. He fell back onto his arse, his numb legs no longer able to support him, and took several deep breaths to get his galloping heart to slow its relentless pace. “Crikey,” he whispered to himself, and, when he found it wasn’t enough, “Bloody fucking hell.” He brushed his hair back with a shaking hand, trying to get a handle on what had just happened. Something was off, something at the end there – like fingers groping back into his own mind. He suspected that perhaps Loki had-  
“Why do you call them “Shrikes”?” Loki asked him groggily, and Charlie jumped a little.

  
  “What?” he asked, a little sharper than he had intended. Yes, Loki had, in fact, woken up during Charlie’s explorations; woken up and done some exploring of his own. It made him feel rather strange, and a little angry. _Stop it_ , he admonished himself, _he tagged you back is all. As if you weren’t prying yourself._

  
  Loki repeated his question, more awake now and staring at Charlie with his intense but still slightly foggy green eyes. He turned to face the younger man, moving his feet to the floor. He was still wincing, but he moved with greater ease than he had even yesterday.

 “Um,” Charlie started and then stopped himself. No decent sentences started with “um”, but the pins and needles were starting now in his legs, putting him off his stride. He ran his hands over his hair, shook his head and tried again, explaining, “They’re fond of impalement, like the birds. They use it for their interrogations, executions, you name it, they’ll stick a god-damn spike in it.” He shrugged, not dismissing it, but rather conveying that no other explanation should be necessary.

  
  “You have first hand experience of that,” Loki stated, and swept his eyes over Charlie’s chest and arms.

  
  Under other circumstances, that look would have been a pleasant experience for him but coupled with that statement it made him feel uncomfortable. Charlie was scarred there – there and pretty much everywhere else from his neck down– but not by the Shrikes. Since becoming a werewolf, he could never be scarred by something as mundane as an iron spike, or a bullet, or a knife. No, it took something a little extra to create the twisted traceries that spoke of his past torture. He stood on legs that were slowly and painfully regaining their feeling and moved to put the rest of his clothes on, staying silent.

  
  “You’re angry with me,” Loki said once the silence had stretched too far to be ignored.

  
  Charlie sighed and paused in the process of putting on his sword belt. After a moment’s though he cinched the belt tight and stood with his hands on his hips, gazing directly at Loki. “The Shrikes are pretty ruthless,” he began, trying to articulate his words so that Loki would understand their importance. “It’s their M.O to kill all of those who come through those portals but one. They take that one away and then torture them to find out where they came from, and more importantly, how they got here in the first place. They want to shut those portals down if they can, and they’ll do anything to find out how.” He paused for a second, looking at Loki levelly. “Alena would have died if she hadn’t fallen first, and that,” here he pointed at Loki’s thigh wound, “I guarantee you, was an accident. My friends and I risked our lives for you, Loki, and you repay us by following me down here and risking getting killed, or captured, or bloody bleeding to death!”

  
  Now it was Loki’s turn to sigh, and he did so before holding a hand up to stop Charlie saying anything further. “But none of that happened did it? I get it Charlie, I really do. You suffered at their hands and you don’t want others to have to endure the same. How very noble of you, but you know that they never would have gotten so far with me.”

  
  “No, Loki,” Charlie said, exasperated, “Three quarters of an hour ago you were still just a man to me, and it wouldn’t have made any difference anyway. Everyone’s worth saving.”

  
  Loki was silent for a time, digesting this last statement. “You think so do you?” he asked, almost imperceptibly, and then continued, louder, as another thought occurred to him. “You told them of Earth?”

  
  Charlie raised an eyebrow at this piece of perception, or perhaps it was another thought that Loki had seen while in his mind. “I told them of Earth,” he agreed, all seriousness for a moment before a smile began to form on his handsome features. “I told them of Earth as it was two hundred and ten million years ago. I don’t think they’ll want to visit Dino Central anytime soon.”

  
  Loki first smirked, and then laughed. That laugh may have been reluctant, but the tension that had been building in the room dissipate all the same.

  
  Charlie shrugged, still grinning. “I’ve been tortured by the masters. I wasn’t going to give up my secrets because of a few pointy sticks. I got rescued after a week and a bit anyway.”

  
  “How?” Loki asked, with interest.

  
  “Well, the Shrikes ended up with thirty pissed off werewolves gunning for them, once my friends found me. I think they may have been a little intimidated by that.” His smile faded a little. “Being threatened with extinction will do that to you, I suppose.”

  
  “Always better to be ruthless against a ruthless enemy,” Loki said. “And there are more of you?”

  
  “Oh, come on, Loki; know your enemy?” Charlie said, with a sardonic smile. He knew what Loki was doing with his leading questions.

  
  “And your resources,” Loki agreed seriously.

  
  Charlie laughed, but he could almost see the further questions forming in Loki’s mind. “It’s a story for another day,” he said. “We need to get back. You’ve probably caused a panic by now.”

  
  He heard a noise then, the faint sound of footsteps from above, and his hands went immediately for the pair daggers he kept crossed on his belt at the hollow of his spine. The sword he carried was a plain thing, but those daggers couldn’t have been more different. They were ten inches of the finest inscribed metal – Charlie couldn’t have said what metal, he’d never seen anything like it before - with ornate basket hilts, perfect for close combat. From the corner of his eye he saw Loki shift in his seat, his eyes narrowed. Charlie glanced at him and saw that his attention was fixed firmly on the dagger in his right hand. He turned back to the door and realised two seconds before it opened who was on the other side.

  
  “Seriously, Charlie?” Ray asked when he saw him, in a tone of long suffering. “When are you going to start carrying a pistol?”

  
  “You know the answer to that,” Charlie answered distractedly. He was looking at Loki again. Something had caught the other mans attention, and he wanted to know what.

  
  “That’s a fine weapon you have there,” Loki told him as Charlie put the daggers away again. He was staring at the younger man with an unsettling intensity.

  
  Ray rolled his eyes. “I bet you say that to all the boys,” he said scornfully.

  
  “Don’t be an arsehole, Ray,” Charlie admonished him.

  
  “You’re cranky this morning,” Ray countered with false brightness. “Good night was it?” He looked at Loki who was now glaring back at the large man with an oddly dangerous smile playing on his lips. “I hope you enjoyed the show.”

  
  “Ray,” Charlie said in warning. There was a few more moments of tense silence, and then he felt both men relent. He breathed an inward sigh of relief. “I’ve already been over this,” he continued. “Can we just leave, please?”

  
  They did, and in silence, with Ray leading and Charlie offering a supporting shoulder to Loki, who, although healing, still struggled over the uneven ground. The silence afforded him time to reflect on the strange events of the past few days, and he felt a weight settling on him; some change was coming for them, he was sure, and he could only hope that they would be ready when it did.

5

That afternoon saw Charlie and Loki aboard the waggon, making their way, with a retinue of Ray’s men and other folk who wanted to travel in safety, to a town that Charlie had named as Arber. Between them on the boards and wreathed in Charlie’s pipe smoke, were the daggers, both unsheathed.

  
  “These hilts are relatively new, made for these blades, and your hands, I think,” Loki said, and Charlie nodded. Loki sighed. “But the blades are Asgardian, Charlie,” he finished, and watched with more than a little satisfaction as the medic’s eyes widened.

  
  As angry as he still was at the younger man for having the bare-faced gall to invade his mind in the way he had, he was also relieved that he wouldn’t now have to explain himself to him. Charlie not only knew who Loki was, but he also believed it utterly. Loki wouldn’t have been able to inspire that belief with words alone, and how foolish had he been to think that it didn’t matter in the first place? How foolish had he also been to underestimate the young man before him? He had only seen a mere twenty-nine of Earths years, – Loki had asked him earlier, but thought, despite the beard that had no doubt been grown to have the opposite effect, he looked younger – a child still, really, but he was also much more than that. His empathic powers were reasonably strong, and the creature he turned into at the full moon was another matter entirely. He had seen some hard living in recent years too. The depth of his eyes and mind attested to that.

  
  “How can you know that?” Charlie asked, pulling Loki back to the present, but the question was only reflex.

  
  “Because they used to be mine,” Loki answered.

  
  Charlie drew a little too heavily on his pipe and coughed out a cloud of fragrant smoke. “I’m sorry,” he began in a choked voice when he was able, “But…. What?”

  
  Loki inclined his head to indicate that he’d spoken the truth. “I know not where I lost them. It was a long time ago now.”

  
  Charlie stared, open-mouthed for a few wordless seconds. “That…. That can’t be coincidence,” he said eventually.

  
  Loki shrugged. There was small chance it could be – coincidence was, after all, a concept humans created because they couldn’t get their tiny minds around the universe’s infinite possibilities. No, either the Old Man was playing his games again or Fate had intervened somewhere along the way, more than likely in Charlie’s favour rather than his. He supposed it didn’t matter which, and it may not come to anything anyway. It simply meant that he had been bound to the young man by some force, for reasons he couldn’t know yet.

  
  “How came these to you?” he asked, even though he knew the answer already, but Charlie surprised him.

  
  “I took them,” he said, boldly.

  
Not “I stole them,” as Loki had expected, probably accompanied with a little flush of shame, but “I took them,” as if he had been owed something and saw these magnificent weapons as recompense. Loki smiled. He couldn’t help it; this boy had something to surprise him with at every turn it seemed. “And did they taste your blood, Charlie?” he asked, curious.

  
  “More than that,” Charlie said, removing his left glove and presenting the palm for Loki’s inspection. “They scarred me.” And indeed, Loki could see the two white brands left on Charlie’s palm, long, thin, and certainly painful at the time. Charlie replaced his glove and then re-sheathed the daggers, handling them carefully as if they were holy relics. He narrowed his eyes at Loki. “You better not be about to ask me to go on some kind of quest with you. I have enough of my own work to do, you know.”

  
  Loki laughed. “No, Charlie. I doubt it will come to that.”

  
  It would be good to see what it did come to though. He felt his heart beat a little faster, and sat back, well satisfied now. Things were finally getting interesting.


End file.
